


Think of Me Fondly

by kitsunequeen



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Declarations Of Love, Fluff, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Derek, Kidnapping, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-16 02:26:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7248379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitsunequeen/pseuds/kitsunequeen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perhaps the worst part of this whole situation, worse than the torture and the pain and the desperation, is that Stiles is here to watch it all.</p><p>Well, not <em>Stiles</em>. Not really.</p><p>Derek realized long ago that the man before him is only a hallucination, a horrible trick conjured up by his lonely, strained, pitiful mind. He supposes some small part of himself finds the idea of Stiles being here comforting. For the rest of him? It’s torture. Well, torture on torture. It’s almost too much, the way Not-Stiles looks at him with those big, brown eyes, like he’s sad and angry and hopeless all at once.</p><p>Derek knows the feeling.</p><p>------</p><p>In which Derek is kidnapped, and after a head injury, begins to hallucinate Stiles. It doesn't take long for the hallucinations to go from a nuisance to Derek's safe space, nor does it take long after Derek's rescue for him to spill a secret to the <em>real</em> Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Think of Me Fondly

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the Teen Wolf Glompfest, and an anon prompted this, from [this](http://captain-snark.tumblr.com/post/142324055378/still-need-fic-where-derek-is-hallucinating-stiles) tumblr post (with permission): __
> 
> _"still need fic where Derek is hallucinating Stiles for whatever reason. Triggered by injury/illness/disorder whatever_
> 
> _but Derek who accidentally tells the real Stiles something personal because he thinks it’s Hallucination Stiles._  
> 
> _Which probably then of course leads to Derek explaining and Stiles being sort of flabbergasted that Stiles is Derek’s safe space."_
> 
> Big thanks to [bleep0bleep](http://bleep0bleep.tumblr.com/) and [ptl4ever419](http://ptl4ever419.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for the beta!

The thing about blood is that it smells more than people realize.

Especially when there’s a lot of it. Especially when it’s sitting congealed on an electrified fence. Especially when it just won’t stop coming.

Derek’s strung from the fence by his arms, hanging up high over his head. The cuffs holding him are infused with wolfsbane and chafe painfully against his already raw wrists, but that’s the least of his problems. He’s been bleeding on and off since his first day here, healing slowly or not at all, depending on how high the hunters turn up the voltage. He’s been down here for eight or nine days now, he thinks, but it’s hard to tell with the lack of windows and the irregular visits from the hunters. However long it’s been, it’s not giving him much hope about the pack finding him any time soon.

Perhaps the worst part of this whole situation, though, worse than the torture and the pain and the desperation, is that Stiles is here to watch it all.

Well, not _Stiles_. Not really.

Derek realized long ago that the man before him is only a hallucination, a horrible trick conjured up by his lonely, strained, pitiful mind. He supposes some small part of himself finds the idea of Stiles being here comforting. For the rest of him? It’s torture. Well, torture on torture. It’s almost too much, the way Not-Stiles looks at him with those big, brown eyes, like he’s sad and angry and hopeless all at once.

Derek knows the feeling.

* * *

“Those guys are bastards,” Not-Stiles snarls. “Complete and utter bastards.”

Derek doesn’t answer.

His head hurts. He’s probably concussed, and the electricity has been keeping him from healing for what must be two weeks now. In turn, his hallucinations probably aren’t going to go away any time soon, and while ignoring him—it, Stiles, Not-Stiles, _whatever_ —hasn’t proven very effective thus far, Derek doesn’t know what else to do. He’s all soothing reassurances and anger at the hunters and careful touches that Derek can’t even really _feel,_ but he’s not Stiles. He’s just some stupid figment of Derek’s overwrought imagination, and succumbing to it can’t be healthy.

“If I had my bat, man, I swear to God. None of them would have _heads_ anymore.”

Stiles is pacing back and forth across the small, dank basement, and Derek lazily traces his steps with his eyes. Derek wants to tell him to stop, that he’s giving him a headache, but the restless motion is just so _Stiles_ that he can’t bring himself to do it.

“There’s gotta be some way out of this. If you could just somehow get them to turn off the electricity, or if you could muster the strength to work past it…”

Not-Stiles stops abruptly, turning to face Derek with furrowed brows.  

“You okay, dude? Can’t’cha talk anymore?”

“I’m just dandy,” Derek mutters. His voice comes out hard and scratchy. “Absolutely wonderful.”

“Well you don’t have to get snarky with _me_ ,” Not-Stiles huffs. “I’m just trying to figure a way out of this.”

“There _is_ no way out of this.”

Not-Stiles glares at him.

“Oh, please. You know the pack is gonna come for you, and in the meantime, I’m not going to abandon you. Don’t be such a sourwolf.”

“It’s been weeks,” Derek says wearily. So he’s actually talking to this thing like it’s a real person, now. Like his weird hallucination of Stiles telling him that the real Stiles is going to find him soon doesn’t mean he’s slowly becoming five kinds of crazy. “Who knows how long before they find me? Or that the hunters won’t just kill me and get it over with first?”

“I’d never let them do that,” Not-Stiles says matter-of-factly, though he hasn’t done a particularly good job of stopping them so far. “You’re going to be okay.”

Then he goes back to his pacing.

* * *

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just tell us what we want to know?” one of the hunters asks. He sounds incredibly bored, and Derek would be offended if he could dredge up any emotion at all besides resignation. “I’m getting sick of waiting around for you to stop being some punkass martyr for your little friends.”

“Tell us how you really feel, dipshit,” Not-Stiles huffs.

He’s standing in the corner with his arms crossed, glaring harshly at the three hunters as they take turns working Derek over.

“He’s not about to tell us anything,” another grumbles. “We’ve been at this forever.”

“Oh, you poor _babies_ ,” Not-Stiles says. “I’m weeping for you. I really, really am.”

“Because we’ve been doing the same shit for weeks,” the third, the leader, says. “It’s about time we switched things up.”

“Lay a hand on him, I dare you,” Not-Stiles snarls.

But when the first hunter produces a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire—something Derek swears to God he heard Stiles mention while rambling about one of his many ridiculous TV shows, and oh, the _creativity_ —all Not-Stiles can do is stand there and glower. Derek finds himself screaming with every swing of the bat, too utterly exhausted to feign stoicism, and having severely underestimated how firmly the barbs would end up buried, and Not-Stiles tears his eyes away with every sickening thump.

* * *

When Derek comes to, everything hurts.

He can feel fresh, hot blood oozing all over his body, and sharp pain washes over him every time he so much as shifts.

“Hey, hey, don’t try to move,” Stiles tells him. “It’s okay.”

Derek knows it’s probably kind of problematic that’s he’s come to think of him as just _Stiles_ at this point, but it’s been at least sixteen days and he’s lonely and he’s _still not healing_. He wants Stiles to be here, wants the soothing touches to be something he can actually feel, wants some tiny bit of relief, and this is the closest he’s going to get.

He’d even dreamt of Scott coming along with Stiles to rescue him a few times, but Stiles is the only one who’s here even when he's conscious. The only one who Derek’s starting to become desperately dependent on.

“You’re fine, Der.”

Stiles approaches slowly, and Derek watches hands land on his chest, moving from wound to wound with ghostly touches.

Stiles sucks in a sharp breath.

“God, they’re really doing a number on you, huh?” He gives a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, and Derek nods, swallowing hard. “You’re gonna be okay though, Derek. The pack would do anything to find you. _I_ would do anything to find you.”

The declaration makes Derek’s head hurt, and he tries not to think too hard about it.

* * *

By what he estimates to be the third week—it’s hard to say, time blends together down here, and lately they’ve begun drugging him with some black substance that makes his head even more murky than it already is—Derek is almost never alone, and he’s become somewhat dependent on the company. Stiles has taken to yelling at the hunters whenever they come downstairs, jabbering on and on with useless facts to keep Derek awake when he seems on the verge of blacking out, and curling himself around Derek’s legs when they get a chance to sleep. It’s kind of a weird position, but honestly, Derek is grateful for any kind of contact. Sometimes he thinks he can almost feel it when Stiles touches him these days, and it’s nice. It’s soothing. The logical part of him still knows this isn’t really Stiles, that Stiles would never want him, but, well… He’ll take what comfort he can get down here.

* * *

When Derek hears the telltale sign of the heavy basement door creaking open, his stomach roils.

They _just_ left. He can’t even get an hour of peace anymore?

“Fuck,” Stiles murmurs. He’s sitting at Derek’s feet, watching the door as well. “I’m sorry, man.”

Derek doesn’t answer, just closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, willing himself to keep his composure. Not that he has much of that left anymore, anyway.

He only opens them again at the sound of Stiles’ voice, scaring him with how devastated it sounds. What did the hunters bring this time?

He looks up to see Stiles in the open doorway, just staring at him. Derek stares back, confused. When had he moved over there?

“Derek, man, are you okay?” Stiles asks, slowly approaching again.

Derek continues to stare at him, glassy-eyed.

“Weren’t you just over here?” he asks. He’s a little surprised to see Stiles changed clothes, too, but that’s not too uncommon for him. “Why’s the door- where are the hunters?”

“We killed them,” Stiles says, and he’s right in front of Derek now, hands hovering inches from his wounded body like he can’t decide what or where to touch first. “We’re gonna get you out of here.”

“You have to give it up, Stiles,” Derek sighs. “You know we can’t.”

“No, dude, the hunters are _dead_ ,” Stiles says a little more forcefully. “We’re gonna get you out of here. Now.”

He produces his lock-picking kit from his back pocket and squats down to start in on Derek’s left ankle.

Derek laughs, and it sounds a little hysterical. He’s had this hallucination a thousand times. He both loves and hates it, but at least after the first few, he learned not to take them seriously.

“It’s okay, Der,” Stiles says quietly, quickly and efficiently freeing the first foot and moving to the next. “We’ve got you now. I’ve got you.”

Derek lets his head fall lazily forward, eyes closed again.

He hears Stiles stand as he finishes the second foot and moves on to one of his arms, and notices that he actually does seem able to move his feet now. His legs almost buckle under him, though, and he holds still again. Not like any of this is real, anyway.

When his left arm is freed, Derek’s whole body sort of collapses, falling forwards and slamming right into Stiles. Derek gives a strangled cry at the pain shooting through his arm as a single, blistered wrist struggles to hold up his dead weight. Stiles curses, shoving his shoulder under Derek’s armpit to help support him.

“Scott!” he calls. “Scotty, I need you!”

Within moments Scott comes barreling through the door, eyes blazing red, but they quickly fade to their usual warm brown, and he winces when he sees Stiles and Derek’s position. Derek’s almost annoyed to see him—this is practically the exact way the rescue goes whenever he imagines it, and he just wants it to be _real_. Just wants to be free.

“I’ve got him,” Scott tells Stiles, and they switch positions, Scott holding Derek up and Stiles moving back to work at the last lock. Black lines trace up Scott’s arms, and Derek’s surprised to feel some of his pain actually fading away. Although, certainly, weirder things have happened down here.

“Got it,” Stiles says, right before Derek collapses. “Whoa!”

Apparently neither of them were expecting just how much Derek was relying on the chains, because he staggers forward and hits the floor as soon as Stiles releases him.

“ _Shit_ ,” they both say together, which is so _ScottandStiles_ that Derek cracks a small smile. God, he misses them. They crouch over him and gently start trying to pull him up, but when Derek doesn’t offer any assistance at all, Scott says, “Derek, are you able to move on your own? Someone else could show up any minute.”

Derek mumbles something unintelligible to even himself.

The cement is cool, his entire body hurts, and he has no plans of getting up of his own accord. He knows he actually won’t be able to get through the door. In just a few moments he’ll blink and be right back where he was before, pain flaring as bright as ever, and chest hurting at what could be.

“Okay,” Scott says. “Okay bud, just hang in there. Stiles, go start the car. I’ll get him up.”

“Right, yeah,” Stiles says.

Derek whimpers and turns to face him as well as he can when Stiles stands.

“Don’t go.”

Stiles hasn’t left his side in days, but the last time he did, he’d been gone for hours. Derek doesn’t think he can handle that at this point. Once Stiles disappears, he’s almost certain Scott will too, and even if he doesn’t, Scott’s not- Scott’s his brother, and Derek loves him, but he’s not… he’s not Stiles.

“I have to make sure we’re good to go,” Stiles says, glancing at the door. “I’ll see you in two seconds, okay?”

“You didn’t come back last time you left,” Derek murmurs, and something dark and guilty passes over Stiles’ face. Derek feels kind of bad, then; it was only a few hours, after all. Still, he needs Stiles to stay with him. “You promised you wouldn’t leave me.”

Stiles swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing.

“I’m sorry, Derek,” he nearly whispers. “I didn’t think this would happen.”

Derek’s not really sure what he means by that, but he doesn’t really care, either.

He just wants Stiles to stay here.

His head is getting foggier and foggier, and he knows the drugs they gave him earlier must be starting to kick in. He doesn’t want to black out. Stiles might not be there when he wakes up.

“Derek, someone might be coming,” Stiles says, sounding pained. “I just need to make sure it’s safe for you and to get the car going. I’ll see you in _two_ -”

“Please?” Derek says, and he thinks maybe his voice sounds a little more vulnerable than he’d normally let it. “Please, I need you, I- I love you, I-” And suddenly he’s crying, not particularly hard, but it’s something he hasn’t done in all this time, and it surprises him. All of this is too much. “Don’t leave me.”

Scott goes very still against him, and Stiles freezes too, staring down at him with wide eyes. Stiles and Scott seem to have some sort of panicked, silent conversation over his head, but his mind is starting to blur.

“Okay,” Stiles says, after a moment. “Alright, Derek, it’s okay. I’m not going anywhere. Scott’s gonna bring you outside, and I’ll be right in front of you in case we run into anyone, okay?”

Derek nods into the floor. He doesn’t bother telling Stiles that he’s not going to be able to really get out the door, anyway. With some difficulty, Scott manages to scoop Derek up in a bridal carry, and Stiles looks down at him for a long moment.

“I need you too, big guy,” he says. “I’m glad we found you.”

Derek stays conscious just long enough to offer a weak smile.

* * *

When Derek comes to, it’s in a room with blinding white light, and he’s lying on a cold metal surface. He springs to a sitting position and immediately regrets it, thumping back down in pain, breathing hard. It doesn’t take more than a few confused seconds for him to slip into a panic attack. Where is he? Why did the hunters move him? What are they-?

And then the door opens with a bang, and someone is staring down at him. _Stiles_ is staring down at him.

Fuck.

How long can this go on for?

“Where are they?” Derek asks between breaths. “Are they here?”

“The hunters?” Stiles asks, frowning. “They’re dead, Derek, remember? I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”

“You- you’re not real,” Derek bites out. He moves a sore arm to clutch at his chest, trying to slow his breathing. “I have to get out of here.”

“I’m not real?” Stiles says, staring at him like he’s lost his mind. Derek thinks maybe he has. “Derek, I’m real. I’m here. I’m right here. We’re in Deaton’s office. You don’t have to do anything except lay there and heal, okay?”

Derek stares at him for a few seconds, then turns his head to the side, taking in what does appear to be Deaton’s office.

“It could- drugs,” he says. “They gave me drugs, how do I know- you’re not- How?”

“It’s okay,” Stiles says, voice low and soothing. “You’re already healing, your head is gonna clear soon. Can I have your hand?”

Stiles waits patiently till Derek nods. He keeps glancing around in panic, looking for some sign of danger.

“Look at this,” Stiles says, matching his hand against Derek’s. “In dreams and hallucinations, you don’t have the right number of fingers. Can you watch?”

He continues to hold Derek’s hand up to his own, slowly tapping each of their fingertips together, counting as he goes. It’s a trick Derek has seen him do plenty of times, especially with Scott when they were teenagers and all the Nemeton business was going down. It always seemed to work for him then.

“See?” Stiles asks. “Five. You’re awake, okay? I’m real. You’re safe. No one here is going to hurt you. Alright?”

It takes a minute, but finally Derek nods, squeezing his eyes shut as he takes it in.

He’s safe. He’s healing. Stiles is here. The real Stiles.

“Good,” Stiles says, sounding incredibly relieved. “You had me worried there, man.”

He doesn’t let Derek’s hand go, but instead tentatively intertwines their fingers and sets their hands on the table next to Derek’s body. They’re both quiet for a while, Derek just lying there trying to let everything sink in.

Finally, after a long time, Stiles says, “Hey, um, do you think we can talk about what you said back there?”

Derek is genuinely confused for a second, and has to play the whole rescue over as best he can in his mind before he realizes what Stiles means. Derek had said he loves him.

Which… fuck.

He _does_ , but of course Stiles doesn’t feel that way back.

Stiles surprises him, though, when he says, “I’m sorry I left you when we were on lookout. I know we said we were going to stick together, but I wasn’t expecting that call from Scott, and hearing he was hurt was- Well, it’s not an excuse. There is no excuse. I left you alone in the middle of the preserve and the hunters got you. And I’ve been…” he tears his eyes away for a second, swallowing harshly. “I’ve been so guilty and worried and… I’m so sorry, Derek. I’m so glad you’re okay.”

And oh. What?

“What?”

“I’m sorry I-” Stiles starts again, but Derek cuts him off.

“It’s not your fault that you left, Stiles. It’s not your responsibility to protect me.”

“It was,” Stiles says, voice ragged. “We were supposed to be protecting each other. Maybe I couldn’t have done anything, but maybe I _could_ have. We’ll never know, because I was an idiot who deserted you and let you get kidnapped for an entire month.”

“That’s not why I said that,” Derek says. He knows he’ll probably regret this, but it has to come up at some point. He should be glad that this is what Stiles started with. “I was… I didn’t think you were real. I had been… imagining you were there with me, for a while. It got worse when they started drugging me, but I was already doing it anyway. It started because of some head injury, probably, and it just didn’t stop.”

Fuck, he hates talking about this kind of thing. Why is he so pathetic?

“It was a coping mechanism, I guess, and then it just never went away. _You_ never went away. It started to feel more and more real, till I could barely separate hallucinations from reality anymore. And when you did leave, it… It just made everything worse. The you in my head said you wouldn’t leave me alone, and I didn’t want you to go. Except… You were the real you. So.”

He shrugs as best he can on the table, then winces in pain.

Stiles is looking at him with something like awe on his face, and Derek really wishes he could get away from all this.

“Just me?” Stiles asks, eventually. “I mean, I’m the only one you imagined?”

“I thought about you and Scott coming to get me out a few times,” Derek sighs. “But otherwise… Yeah. Just you. Just us.”

“Wow,” Stiles says, rocking on his heels. “Uh… That’s… Wow.”

Derek would be cringing if it didn’t hurt.

Fuck. Yeah. How creepy is it that he spent a month in captivity daydreaming of Stiles? And when had Stiles become his safe space, anyway? This must sound so bad.

“That’s why I, uh,” Derek says, figuring he should just lay all the cards on the table while they’re at it. “That’s why I said I loved you. I didn’t think you were the real you.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, and he looks almost… No. Not disappointed. Derek’s head just really, really hurts still. “So…”

He trails off, biting his lip.

“What?”

“You wouldn’t have said it to the real me?” Stiles asks, trying and failing to sound nonchalant.

“No,” Derek says, closing his eyes again. “Of course not, no, I just- I would’ve kept it to myself if I was in my right mind. I’m sorry. I know you don’t think of me like-”

He’s interrupted by a pair of soft, warm lips pressing against his for a moment that’s far too fleeting. His own eyes snap open, searching Stiles’ face in surprise.

“Sorry,” Stiles says quickly. “Was that not okay? I just- I like you too. I don’t know if you meant it, or if you were just really out of it, or if you were just really happy to be rescued, but…”

Derek’s not going to risk sitting up again, but firmly squeezing Stiles’ hand is enough to make him stop.

“That’s not why,” he says. It’s bolder than he would normally be, but Stiles had just kissed him, after all, and if not after being kidnapped for a solid month, then when? “It’s just because you’re you.”

Stiles beams at him, squeezing his hand right back.

“God, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Derek smiles too, and Stiles reaches down to run a hand through his hair.

“Now get some rest, okay?” he says. “Deaton will kill me if I distract you from healing anymore. If you feel the same way when you’re feeling better, then… I love you too, Derek.”

He plants a quick kiss on Derek’s forehead and then sits down in a chair near the table, and keeps holding Derek’s hand till he falls asleep.

* * *

Derek still loves him when he wakes up.

And for the rest of his life, too.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed, and I'd love to hear what you guys thought!
> 
> Visit me on tumblr at [stilesbansheequeen](http://stilesbansheequeen.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
